It could not be she who had done this. But, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along by Jonathan and his janizaries. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. . O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully.
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